A Mother’s Hand

In my earliest memory, I am holding my mother’s hand.
The scene is not much more than a flash of images here and there,
Towering concrete steps leading up to a hospital,
A sunshine day that is out of kilter with what should be,
And yet, there’s a constancy within, a simple, trusting security
I’ve enjoyed my entire life – thanks to the woman holding my hand.

Today is her birthday, and happiness is certainly wished,
But in truth, I pray we give her much more than that.
After all, she isn’t much of the reveling kind
And would much prefer a day of rest,
The kind where life can’t break in and tear down the blessings.

So, Mama, here are a few blessings to rest with…

Look at Leigh Anne –
                She is wrapped up in the smiles of her grandchildren,
                all seven of them,
                and could they love her more than they do?

What about Laurie?
                Her love is overflowing like a tipped cup,
                like she can’t wait for the next day to get here,
                not to get it over with, but to live it.   

And me?  
                Well, I’m my mother’s daughter,  
                a distinction we’ve all laughed at over the years,
                but, in truth, one I take great pride in.

In short, we are all blessed beyond measure.
Blessed beyond measure
Because you, along with Daddy,
Invested in us beyond measure.

So as you look at us today,
Realize that we are your tributes –
Your marks of respect –
The blessed ones who got to hold your hand.  

With much love on your 65^th birthday,
Lisa